Contagious Joy

"Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get his help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who "worry their prayers" are like wind-whipped waves. Don't think you're going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open."
James 1:2-8 The Message

I attended a Women of Faith Conference in Rochester this weekend on a whim. A God-inspired whim, I should say. At 9:30 on Friday morning, as I attempted to get the morning going in my house and agonized over processes like starting a load of laundry while attempting to get my children fed, dressed and piano-ed, and meals organized for two families with new babies, my phone rang. My dear friend Stacy on the other end said something to the effect of, "What are you doing today?" followed closely by something like, "You're coming to the Women of Faith conference!!" Someone who bought a ticket and paid for a hotel room couldn't go. Within 45 minutes (an hour, tops), I had myself packed, plans finalized, my children at church with my parents, and Stacy and Amy and I drove out of town. The topic of the Conference? Contagious Joy.

A long time ago, I had that.

I remember how it felt. I know that people around me thought of it as silly, maybe even ridiculous naivete. And honestly, there was a purity in that. Through high school, I had a ready smile, a hearty laugh, and a willing hug, and that, along with my waist-length, blond hair, was my trademark characteristic. It was who I was. I rested in the comfortability of that person. Somewhere in the middle of a messy relationship my freshman year of college, amidst the heartache of a boyfriend harboring a secret, and the see-saw of emotions with every weekly, long-distance conversation, twenty-two inches of blond hair was snipped away, along with a piece of that blissful innocence.

It goes away in small chunks, I think. It's not necessarily one crushing blow. You give away something you didn't intend to give--a tiny piece of your heart, a little piece of your personality, a miniscule piece of your joy. You don't see it going right away...it's not till years later as you reflect. And maybe regret. All of a sudden, you're sitting in a conference, surrounded by 14,000 women, and you catch a glimpse of the cynical, spiteful, bitter person you have become after years and years of giving away pieces of the person you were.

And you shudder. And you take a good look at that person.

I don't like her.

It has nothing to do with extra pounds, or blemishes, or irritating, growing-out, now-decidedly-brown hair (though those things I've blamed). It's not the red, stuffy nose or the unmanicured fingernails. It's the negativity. The sarcasm. The selfishness. The competitive, comparing, self-centeredness. It's the way I answer my kids when they frustrate me and the shortness with my husband when I make assumptions about his motives or judgements about his actions. My quickness to point out someone's flaws. I used to irritate people with my optimism! I can't even imagine how people see me now.

My life has shaped me into the person that I have become. I have faced "tests and challenges from all sides." My "faith-life" has shown its true colors. They certainly wouldn't paint a masterpiece. They wouldn't be worthy of the scribblings of a toddler. I sit at my keyboard struggling with where to go from here.

"So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get his help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it. "

Mature and well-developed. Not deficient in any way. I surely don't know what I'm doing. And I've surely kept my options open. I like that control. If I keep my options open (you know, "Lord, help!! But while I'm waiting for you, I'm going to try this, because I'm not confident you're going to actually do anything."), something will happen whether God decides to step in or not. I don't even know what asking boldly, believing looks like. But now I know what I'm asking for.

Contagious joy.